


Cabinet Man

by void_spells



Series: Sasha James, The Archivist [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (most tags from part one apply here), Archivist Sasha James, Canon-Typical Identity Theft, Canon-Typical Michael, Depersonalization, False relationships, Gaslighting, Multi, No one is cishet, Torture, especially tim and jon, except not really, im adumb so lmk if tags should be added, jon was so short the not-them had to snatch him and replace him with a tall version, not many good times to be had here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25088341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/void_spells/pseuds/void_spells
Summary: Sasha couldn’t shake the feeling that something, maybe even someone, was missing. But then John would give her an easy smile, and the feeling went away. For a little while.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Tim Stoker/Not-Jon
Series: Sasha James, The Archivist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732813
Comments: 132
Kudos: 358





	1. Too Deep

It was two and a half months before Sasha and Tim returned to the Archives. Sasha had tried to come back earlier, but John and Martin proved to be a particularly vicious team when it came to ‘killing with kindness.’ It took even longer for the two of them to allow any exploration of the tunnels, another few weeks. She never thought she would get impatient waiting to go down there, and yet, she sat at her desk, drumming her fingers against the wood as John went over safety measures for anything that could possibly go wrong. Tim had taken to aiming spitballs at him, but never committing. He settled for shooting them around Martin's head. Sasha snatched the straw from him.

“John, we get it. You’ve drilled this into our heads about a million times now. We’ll be  _ fine _ , you don’t have to worry!” She cut him off, and he crossed his arms and gave her a glare. It wasn’t a very good one, considering it was from John, but it was a good attempt. 

“I am not worried! I don’t worry about things! I would just prefer that my friend and my fiance are safe while they go prancing around in spooky underground tunnels!” He huffed. Tim sighed as he stood, stepping in front of John and placing his hands gently on either side of his face.

“We’re going to be fine, love. We’re only going to be down there for  _ maybe _ an hour, just to get a good feel for the place. We’ve got extra batteries for the torches and everything! And if things  _ do _ get spooky I’ll punch a ghost in the face just for you, okay?” John’s face softened at Tim goofy little grin he shot at him, and he leaned down to press their foreheads together, briefly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. It just freaks me out, and I’ve never even been down there!” The two shared a quick, sound kiss, before John pulled away and looked at Sasha. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid, hun. You know how he likes to show off.” They both ignored Tim’s offended “hey!” with a laugh. Sasha shot a glance at Martin, who watched John with a slight frown on his face.

“You okay, Martin?” He startled, giving his head a slight shake as his wide eyes shot to Sasha.

“W-what? Yeah, I’m-ha, I’m fine. Just feels a little weird, you two going back down there.” His hands wrung together, a nervous chuckle making it’s way past his lips. Sasha gave him a soft smile.

“Yeah, it does feel weird. We’ll be okay, though, just you and John wait up here, get some work done so you don’t both use all the mugs to make stress-tea.” She stood with a slight wince, her back aching. “Whelp, we should get going, yeah? Don’t want to leave those tunnels waiting.”

  
  


⸻

  
  


Sasha didn’t remember much of the tunnels. When she tried to think back, all that really came to mind was the worms and a growing headache. A few flashes of Tim lugging her around made their way through as well. Other than that, the dark, rather foul-smelling hallways were completely new to her. Tim seemed to be just a little less lost than her, but was doing a good job of pretending he knew exactly where he was going. She made a new arrow on the wall with her chalk as they came to a crossroads. Her eyes followed Tim as he made a slow, dramatic twirl, before settling to face her.

“Okay, Sash, which way should we go?” She mimicked his own turn around, closing her eyes with her finger pointing forward. She had meant to just stop whenever, but a sharp tug in her gut caused her to stumble, eyes flying open. Her finger was outstretched toward the dark corridor turning right. She startled as Tim settled a hand against her back to steady her.

“Woah, you alright?” His voice was laced with concern. She blinked a few times, before turning to him.

“Fine, just made myself dizzy. Let’s go this way!” Sasha jut a thumb behind her the way she had chosen. Tim stared at her, lips pursed.

“You sure? We can always just go back—”

“I’m fine, Tim!” She snapped, and immediately regretted. She heaved a sigh, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Sorry, I just… I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just been all cooped up, and the curiosity of what's down here has been eating at me, I guess. We won’t be much longer, we agreed on taking this slow. I just want to see what’s down this hallway, okay?” Tim reached forward, patting a hand against her cheek.

“Yeah, okay. So, you’ve chosen Spooky Corridor Number 3! Let’s find out what’s down there!” He gripped her hand, leading them forward while Sasha managed a messy arrow on the wall as they passed. 

“Hey, speaking of choosing, any idea when the wedding is gonna be?” She asked with what she was sure was a convincing air of innocence. Tim huffed a chuckle.

“Amazing segway, Sash. You know, John and I are kind of waiting for the right time, or something. Could be a few months from now, or maybe another year. Whenever we feel ready.” Sasha’s loud groan echoed off the walls, and she cringed the moment she did it.

“I just want to be a maid of honor, is that too much to ask, Tim? I want to see you wearing a white suit and crying! That’s all!” She whined as Tim scoffed. She made another arrow.

“Oh, this is all news to me! Sasha, why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be our wedding planner? Would save John a lot of stress.” There were a few entryways along the corridor, but they all seemed to be blocked by cave-ins. She certainly didn’t recall any of this.

“I’ve been waiting for you to officially ask. I have the whole event planned out up here,” She tapped the side of her head. “Ready to go whenever! Say the word and it’s secondhand bridezilla on my end.” They shared a laugh, before Sasha slowed to a stop, Tim quickly following suit.

“What is it?” He asked, before he followed her gaze, eyes falling on the open entryway next to them. How they hadn’t noticed walking toward it, Sasha couldn’t figure out, but it was there nonetheless. 

“Well, that looks promising.” She took a step toward the door, tugging Tim along with her.

“Spooky appearing door in the spooky dark corridor in the spooky underground tunnels under our spooky workplace? Sure let's go right in, why don’t we?” Tim grumbled, allowing Sasha to pull him forward. She drew a little star next to the entrance, before they both aimed their torches into the pitch black room. 

Tim had described the ring of worms to the best of his ability. Considering the state he was in when he found it, though, the best of his ability was about the equivalent of trying to describe a dream several hours after the fact. There was no mistaking a ring of worms, however. What Sasha’s torch light fell on was most definitely a half-formed ring of shriveled, rotting worms. She didn’t know how neither of them could smell it from down the corridor, but they certainly could now. Tim gagged beside her, and she wasn’t too far behind, pulling the neckline of her shirt up to cover her nose. 

“Oh this is  _ so _ much worse than I remember! The squirming was bad but this smell is way, way worse! I thought they cleared all this shit?” Sasha took a tentative step forward, cringing as dead worms crunched under her shoe. She reluctantly released Tim’s hand to fish out her phone, snapping a picture of the disgusting monument. After one more quick pass around the room with her torch, she backed out, feeling saliva pooling in her mouth. She managed to stumble far enough away before kneeling down to vomit. Tim was close behind, scooping her hair out of her face. He pulled it into a bun, before rubbing her back until she was done.

“God,” she started, after spitting out the water Tim had given her to rinse her mouth with, “I almost prefer the worms alive. That was  _ horrible! _ ” She slumped against the wall, opposite of the mess she made. Tim slid down to join her.

“You didn’t say anything, I figured you were alright. I’m surprised  _ I _ didn’t throw up, honestly.” She took a gulp of water, and halted her move to offer it to Tim, figuring that probably wasn’t the best idea, considering.

“I didn’t say anything because I was trying not to throw up. We should get out of here. I want a shower.” Tim nodded in agreement, getting to his feet to help Sasha up. Her back twinged. 

“It’s weird, I don’t remember this corridor, with all the blocked passages. Probably because of all the gas, but still. Weird.” Tim walked beside her, hand steady on her back. She nodded.

“Yeah, weird.”

  
  


⸻

  
  


Neither of them could recognize the path back to the trapdoor. There were more turns and longer hallways, and, if it weren't for her messy arrows scribbled every few feet guiding them, Sasha would have sworn they were lost. Tim had started to comment on it, before his mouth clicked shut with a slow sigh through his nose. Despite the sudden architectural changes, they made it back without incident. Sasha did not count her tripping over an empty bottle of wine as an "incident", and she made sure Tim knew better than to argue with her.

Martin was pacing in front of the trapdoor when they emerged, John watching him from his place on the floor against the wall. It didn’t take long for their return to be noticed. 

“Jesus, finally! I thought we were gonna have to go down there and find you!” Martin cried, rushing to check them over. John hovered behind him, sharing a small nod with Tim in assurance.

“It didn’t feel like we were gone too long, maybe 45 minutes?” Sasha checked the time on her phone. Certainly longer than 45 minutes.

“Try two hours! God, I thought something terrible had happened! What  _ did _ happen?” He shuffled to the side as John pushed past to kiss his fiance, trying to be subtle about his own once-over. Martin made an odd sort of face at that, but appeared to shake himself out of it when Sasha narrowed her eyes at him quizzically. He had been acting so weird lately, especially towards John. She kept meaning to ask him about it, but every time she broached the subject he seemed confused as to what she was talking about.

“Not much,” Tim started, “We found the freaky worm portal I thought I hallucinated, also I’m pretty sure the passages move down there. Super spooky, but no monsters as far as I can tell.” John hummed in response, rubbing a hand over Tim’s back. Sasha thought back, trying to remember if anything else of note had happened. Her mind glossed over the wine bottle, before zeroing back in on it. She recalled the empty food wrappers, water bottles, scattered books and newspapers.

“Actually, I think someone may be living down there.” She stated, before she even realized she had opened her mouth. Everyone's eyes widened, Martin let out a soft whimper.

“Oh shit, yeah! All the trash we found down there! Some of it looked pretty new, didn’t it? Ew, what if they were watching us the whole time?” Tim gasped, only a little dramatically, given the situation. John kept eyeing the now-closed trapdoor with suspicion. 

“Hun, maybe if someone’s down there you should stay up here for now. Maybe even call the police, let them check?” John muttered close to Tim’s ear, not quite secretly, but it was clearly meant for him alone. Tim gripped John’s hand in his own, cupping his cheek with the other.

“I don’t think monsters eat dry ramen noodles and canned beans, John.” John quirked up an eyebrow.

“No, but serial killers might.” There was another small, distressed sound from Martin at that.

“Well serial killers I can fight. Besides, it’s probably just someone looking for a place to sleep, there's no need to get cops involved. We’ll be fine! Hey, if it  _ is _ a serial killer, Sasha and I will knock his teeth out!” Tim threw a punch into the air, nudging Sasha in an attempt to get her to do the same. She half-heartedly raised her fist, much to his disappointment. 

“Speaking of serial killers,” she interjected, bringing her voice down to a stage-whisper, “any theories on who killed Gertrude, yet?” Martin whipped his head around, apparently searching for someone eavesdropping. 

“Are you sure we should be talking about that? Here?” He hissed. Sasha looked around as well, but no one was there. Still, something clearly had Martin on edge.

“We can go to my office, I guess?” She suggested. He didn’t seem very happy about that, either, but he muttered a low “fine”, so that was where they went.

Tim had thought to snag an extra chair on their way in, so no one was stuck standing. She threw herself into her own chair, sighing as the pain in her back eased. She hadn’t even realized how bad it had been aching. Tim fell into his own as Martin locked the door, already speaking.

“I think it was Elias, he’s too big of a dick to not  _ also _ be a murderer.” John scoffed, while Sasha slammed a hand against her desk.

“I agree! No one else knew her like he did! It’s always someone you’re close to that murders you!” John gave another scoff. “What? It’s the most logical conclusion!”

“ _ No one _ knew Gertrude like Bouchard did? Not a single person knew her better than her boss? I refuse to believe she was  _ that _ sad of a person.” Tim snorted, and Sasha shot him a betrayed look.

“No no, Tim, you’re with me, you don’t get to laugh! Who do you think it is, John, since your  _ fiance’s _ idea is so ridiculous?” She crossed her arms over her chest, while John cleared his throat, leaning forward in his seat.

“Well, unlike you people who hide away down here being boring, except for you, Tim, you’re lovely, _I_ have been talking to other employees here. You know, people who have interacted with Gertrude? Now, Miranda, you know, the blonde woman in research who thinks being blonde is a personality trait and tries to relate to me about it? _She_ said that not many people like Gertrude. _Apparently_ her assistants kept quitting, but Josh in tech support says they all went missing, and some of them totally lost it. I thought that was completely ridiculous, because I mean, really? How would that not be reported? 

“So I talked to Rosie because she’s been here  _ forever _ , and  _ she _ said sometimes her assistants left on follow-ups, or went with her on research trips, and they never came back. So  _ I _ think it was one of her assistants, maybe they thought she was killing them, or maybe she  _ was _ killing them—”

“Okay, cool, so you think one of her dead assistants rose from the grave and used a ghost gun! Got it, keep up the gossip, John. Martin?” She turned to Martin, who seemed startled by her attention on him.

“Uh, what?” 

“Have any theories on who killed Gertrude?” Tim asked. Martin shifted slightly in his sleep, halfway reaching out for an empty mug on her desk before he realized.

“Uh, I mean I don’t really like thinking about it, but then you and Tim said someone is living in the tunnels. That was where I found her, so, I mean, maybe whoever is living there did it?” Shit. Once again, Sasha felt like a shitty friend. (She could remember this very specific feeling, but couldn’t quite recall what actually happened.) She should have figured all of this would bother Martin, considering he was the one that found Gertrude's body, but she didn’t even  _ think _ before pulling him into the conspiracy theories. Tim seemed to mirror her own guilt.

“I’m sorry, Martin, I should have figured this would make you uncomfortable—” 

“I-it’s fine, you can keep theorizing and all that, I didn’t mean to make anyone feel bad, or anything.” His hands were waving around, and Sasha felt even worse.

“No, no, hey. I totally get it. If I found a body, I probably wouldn’t wanna talk or least of all  _ joke _ about it—”

“I might joke about it.” Tim interrupted, raising his hand. He put it down as Sasha glared at him and John gave him a light wack to the back of his head.

“I should have asked first, and I’m sorry, Martin. We won’t talk about this anymore around you if it bothers you. I don’t want you to be upset or uncomfortable or anything.” She would have reached forward to take his hand, but her back hurt too much for that. She settled for a soft smile. Martin gave a hesitant one back.

“I-thanks, Sasha. And I think I’ll be okay, just maybe not as much joking about it? I  _ do _ want to know what happened to her.” She nodded, and checked to make sure Tim and John nodded as well. 

“Sounds good, we can manage that. No more jokes, it’s time for serious sleuthing!” Tim tentatively raised his hand. She blinked at him, but he kept it up. She sighed.

“Yes, Tim?” His hand finally fell.

“Can I go pee first? Please? I drank so much water in those tunnels.” She heard Martin’s quiet chuckle.

“Yes, Tim.” He shot up from his seat, rushing out the door. John rolled his eyes. She never wanted to take so much time off of work again, she had really, really missed her boys. (But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something, maybe even some _ one _ , was missing.) John smiled at her. She smiled back. 

  
  


⸻

  
  


_ Something—(someone? Does that sound right? Someone?) Someone struggled weakly against the webs in the impossible space it—(They? She? He? He sounded right. The others sounded okay too but He felt… better.) he found himself locked away in. Everything hurt there, and nothing made sense. Someone tried to remember… faces, he thought they were called, but there was nothing familiar about the shapes he saw.  _

_ There were words he could just barely recall. Names? What were names again? They were important, they belonged to-to people. He was a person, wasn’t he? He had to be, if there were  _ other _ people. Someone remembered that other people existed, but not there. Not in the impossible space where shapes that looked like people but weren’t kept creeping across his vision, reaching and hurting and talking in voices that weren’t real voices, all tangled in webs that wrapped around everything. _

__

_ Someone felt as if everything that made him exist was being leached away, cut and pulled and torn off and it  _ hurt _ , and Someone wondered if maybe that’s all existence was, just hurt. He wondered if it was worth trying to hold onto him being a Someone and a He and a Person, because the more he did, the more the pain grew.  _

__

_ There was Something, (very distinctly some _ thing. _ ) That was in every way Not Him, that Someone knew was the thing making him hurt. Trying to pull him apart and take him away from Being. It would talk to him, cruel words he couldn’t understand in the impossible place, say names he could recall but only barely. Then it would leave, and the webs grew tighter, and Someone knew it was Something pulling away, because it was just as tangled as he was. _

_ Someone struggled, weakly. _


	2. Section 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Sasha hated Basira. She was nice enough, polite, and was willing to break the law to give her Gertrude’s tapes, but she was a cop. There was also the fact she was clearly suspicious of her and her team.

It’s not that Sasha  _ hated _ Basira. She was nice enough, polite, and was willing to break the law to give her Gertrude’s tapes, but she was a cop. There was also the fact she was clearly suspicious of her and her team. She could handle the officer being suspicious of  _ her _ , but she drew the line at someone looking into her boys. But she could be civil, if it meant she had access to possible answers. But she also insisted on handling all interactions with Basira, especially after she put John through what he described as a “full-on police show interrogation,” apparently implying he had a false identity, among other things. Of course, it was John, so she took his account with a grain of salt, but still. 

So no, she didn’t hate her, but she sure felt like she did while waiting for her to show up, hunched under a rather useless umbrella in the pouring rain. Her back ached from the shitty weather, and standing wasn’t helping much. She checked her phone for the tenth time in about half as many minutes, cursing Basira’s insistence on treating this like some sort of drug deal. Her elation at seeing she received a text was quickly extinguished when she realized it was from Tim. A row of cop emojis, followed by two rows of question marks. She allowed herself to stomp her feet, groaning. She was not throwing a fit. Not if there was no one else around to see her.

“Uh, you okay?” She whipped around, Basira standing a few feet behind her. She didn’t even bother trying to hold back the small squeak that came out of her mouth; it was nothing compared to the embarrassment she could already feel coloring her cheeks. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, the officer staring at her in what appeared to be both judgement and concern.

“Fine! I’m totally, completely fine. Tapes?” She stuffed her phone in her pocket so she could reach out. Basira rolled her eyes with a sigh, before holding out the paper bag she had been clutching at her side. Sasha took it with a small “thanks” and a nod, before turning away.

“Hey, wait.” Great. She turned back around to face her.

“Yeah?” Basira fiddled with her keys for a moment, almost seeming unsure.

“Look, I know you trust your people, and I know that if someone was looking into people  _ I _ trusted, I would be pissed.” Sasha resisted the urge to roll her own eyes. “So I know you don’t want to hear this, but there is something seriously  _ strange _ about your friend John.”

“Basira, I—”

“None of the information I pull up on him makes any sense! I had this weird feeling, so I tried to get copies of the original files, the physical ones; his birth certificate, arrest records, that kind of thing, and nothing. They kept sending me files for someone with almost the same name, born the same day, in the same town, in the same hospital. Hell, he even had an arrest record! I have the original copy of his fingerprints and everything! But  _ that _ Jonathan Sims has no digital files.  _ That  _ Jonathan Sims keeps pulling up as  _ your _ Johnathan Simms when I try to look him up in the systems. That is  _ weird _ , Sasha. Magnus Institute kind of weird.” This time Sasha did roll her eyes.

“So his original files fucked up his name. Would you like to give a statement? Come on, Basira, really?” Basira opened the bag at her hip, rummaging around for a moment. She pulled out a crumpled file, several old looking papers sticking wildly from it. She pressed it into Sasha’s chest.

“His original files  _ also _ say he’s Pakistani, and has black hair and brown eyes. Arrest record says he's about a foot shorter than the John I met, 5 foot 1, I believe. Is all that just a typo?” She didn’t say anything, flipping through the file in her hand, umbrella held in her elbow. “I’m not telling you he’s a murderer, or that he’s some monster or whatever the hell Prentiss was. I'm just saying that  _ something _ weird is going on with him.” Sasha closed the file with a sigh.

“Yeah, okay. I uh, I need to go.” Basira nodded, and walked away without a word. Sasha stood for a moment, fingers tapping on the file, before returning to the Institute. 

  
  


She didn’t show anyone the files when she returned. She knew she should have, that if she did, chances were John would be able to explain them, but she didn’t. She hid the folder away in the bottom drawer of her desk, the only one with a lock that, before then, she had never used.  _ ‘It doesn’t matter.’  _ she told herself.  _ ‘If it was important, he would have said something.’ _ She left it at that. It was probably some mistake on Basira’s end, or a mistake on someone else's. It wasn’t important enough to bother sharing. She tried to ignore that feeling of something missing, but it refused to quite go away.

  
  


⸻

  
  


She couldn’t get the files out of her head. Dark hair, brown eyes, Pakistani, short. She blamed the arrest record, (John, or, she supposed, Jon, had apparently gotten caught trespassing several times as a teenager. As far as she could tell,  _ John _ had never so much as stolen a classmates pencil.) for her next move. She had planned to go by Gertrude’s flat after work, ask her neighbors what kind of person she was, if they ever met anyone suspicious around her. That was the plan she told the others about, and it was what they agreed was a good idea. On the way over, however, she had an idea that felt like something someone else would have suggested, followed by that goddamn  _ feeling _ . She sent an imaginary glare toward the folder locked in her desk drawer.

It wasn’t very hard to convince the woman at the front desk that she was Gertrude’s granddaughter. They apparently looked somewhat alike, Gertude was enough of a recluse that family not being mentioned wasn’t a problem, and Sasha knew she could be a pretty good actor. So, after a quick, choked up conversation with an improvised tear or two, one “Megan Robinson” was turning the key into the former Head Archivists flat. 

It wasn’t a mess like she expected, given the state of the archives. The only things in the living room was a desk and a small sofa that must have been older than Gertude had been. There was a laptop charger winding under the desk, but no actual laptop. Sasha wandered into the kitchen, and it was somehow even more barren. There was one mug sitting on the counter, and a pot and kettle sitting neatly on the stove. Other than that, absolutely nothing. The fridge was empty, and the freezer only had a few ice-packs and a frozen bag of peas. She took a few pictures, and moved on to the bedroom. A well-made full sized bed, and a bookshelf practically overflowing with books. A plastic bag was sitting next to the bookshelf, also full of books. After a few more pictures, she began going through the books. 

Sasha did  _ not _ expect for every image of a person's face to have the eyes cut out. Honestly, it made her think back to John’s ever-evolving theory that Gertrude Robinson was a serial killer and had been killed by either a victim's family member or the ghost of a victim themselves. Because ghosts use guns, obviously. She shook the image of her predecessor laughing maniacally while mutilating a body out of her head, and piled a few of the altered books on the bed for a photo. A quick search of the ones in the bag revealed the same issue, though these booked actually looked read. When she was done with the pictures, she stuffed a few books in her bag, and decided it was time to leave. She rubbed her eyes, hard, to make them red, and managed a few extra tears as she strode past the woman at the front desk. She received a sympathetic smile, to which she gave a small nod, and left the building. 

  
  


She wanted to take the books back to the Institute, mostly because it was on her way home. She sent everyone a quick text that she was leaving the flat, and that she would tell them what she discovered in the morning. The building was pretty dark when she arrived, and very empty. It seemed even Elias had long since left, and no janitor was in sight. She fished a torch from her bag, rather than turning on all the lights, but as she made her way down the stairs to the basement, cursing the lack of elevator the whole way, she realized the lights were on. The lights should  _ not _ have been on. She was the last one to leave as she had turned them off. As she slowly descended the last of the steps, torch now switched off but held firmly in her hand, she heard the sound of someone moving things around, big things. Furniture. 

Sasha peeked around the corner of the stairwell, trying to get a glimpse of whoever was there. She couldn’t see past the bend of the hallway, but she could tell they were messing around in the main office area, Tim’s desk pushed into view. She considered calling someone, but she figured it might make too much noise. She had a heavy torch, anyways. She slipped out of a stairwell, trying to ignore how her day had felt straight out of some spy movie or something, torch gripped in both hands as she inched down the hallway, the sound of frustrated grumbling and what she swore was  _ growling _ getting louder. She figured she was too close to fish her phone from her bag. 

She whipped around the corner, yelling something she hoped didn’t sound completely lame, and was met with a loud  _ thump _ and some rather distinct cursing. She lowered the torch from where she had been brandishing it over her shoulder.

“John, what the hell are you doing here?!” She hissed, watching the man emerge from under his own desk, rubbing the back of his head with wide eyes.

“Sasha! Hi, uh… sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, long limbs betraying him. He kicked aside his desk chair as he stumbled into it.

“Well yeah, figured that was the case. What are you doing here, though? It's almost midnight, John. Is Tim here with you?” She scanned the room, somewhat expecting Tim to pop up under another desk. All the other doors were closed, the windows in them dark. John gave a breathy laugh.

“No, no, I just think I lost something, is all. Had it on me when I came in, was gone when I got home.” He frowned, scanning the floor. Sasha took a few steps back to push Tim’s desk back into place. 

“What'd you lose? I can help you look for it? I was just dropping some books off to look at tomorrow.” She started walking toward him, but was stopped by the frantic wave of his hands.

“No it’s fine, hun, it’s just something I got for Tim, anniversary and all that. I’m pretty sure it isn’t here, though, I’ve looked all over. It probably got buried in my work bag, I’ll find it!” He still looked nervous, despite the confident tone. If she didn’t know him, she would have said he looked almost angry, but John didn’t get angry about things. Sasha finally managed to fit Tim’s desk back into place, John sweeping around to help her. 

“What did you get him? In case I do find it, I mean. Also because I’m nosy and even the smallest mystery eats away at my soul.” John frowned at her. He must have been more upset about what he had lost than she thought.

“It’s just this old necklace I got in an antique shop, but I think he’ll really like it. Really, you don’t have to look for it, I’m sure I’ll find it soon.” Sasha hummed with a nod.

“Well, just in case I can ask Martin to look—”

“I don’t want Martin involved!” He snapped, startling her. John  _ never _ sounded like that. Great, now she was worried. 

“John…” He let out a heavy sigh, hands running through his short hair.

“I’m sorry, I just— Martin totally  _ hates _ me, I don’t want him to know I lost something I got for my fiance, I feel like he’ll tell Tim, or something? God, I don’t know.” Sasha’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she set a gentle hand on John’s arm.

“What? Why do you think Martin hates you?” It didn’t make sense. Sure, she had been noticing the way Martin seemed to avoid him, but it wasn’t  _ hate _ . It couldn’t have been.

“He just keeps looking at me weird, and avoiding me, and sometimes he acts like I’m doing something wrong but he wont tell me what it is. Small things, it’s like he doesn’t know me, but we’ve known each other for years! I just don’t know what’s going on. There’s just all these tiny things, like making me tea all the time even though he knows I hate it— and god I know that makes me sound like an entitled prick but it just feels like he’s being petty when I don’t even know what I did wrong. Did he say anything to you?” He spoke almost entirely in one breath, the way he usually did. Sasha shook her head, bewildered.

“I-no, no he hasn’t said a word about anything like that. God, that’s just… I can’t think of a reason Martin would act that way towards you? I mean you’re both probably the nicest people I know. Maybe he’s dealing with something? Not that that’s an excuse to be a dick, but I mean… I just can’t think of a reason. I’m sorry John, I wish I was more help. Have you told Tim about this?” He slumped against the desk, a miserable frown on his face.

“No. You know how he gets, he’s all protective and stuff. I mean I love that about him and it’s  _ totally _ hot but I don’t want to risk hurting his friendship with Martin just because of something stupid. I don’t know, maybe I’ll talk to Martin about it, I’m just worried he’s gonna get more upset since I don’t know what he’s mad about.” Sasha patted his arm, before pulling him into a hug.

“I can keep an eye out, if I catch him acting like that I’ll talk to him, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you did something wrong, because as far as I can tell, you didn’t.” She leaned back, squishing John’s face in her hands. “Good luck finding that necklace, I promise I won't say anything to Tim. You better get back home. You at least told Tim you were going out, right?” John nodded the best he could, and Sasha let go, revealing the small smile on his face.

“Thanks, hun. You get home soon too, okay? Can’t have the boss dead on her feet.” She agreed to the terms, and John leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek, for leaving with a wave, which she returned. She stood still, listening to the sound of John making his way up the stairs, before turning toward her office. She still had to drop off the books, maybe make a few notes while she was in there. 

She fumbled with the lightswitch before finally managing it, cringing as the light revealed the mess of her office. She kept swearing to clean up, but trying to reorganize an entire Archive all while investigating the previous Head Archivists murder didn’t leave her much time. Her bag made a loud thunk as she set in none-to-lightly on her desk. She picked up a few scattered files, setting them on the already precarious pile on top of an overflowing filing cabinet. The books were arranged much more neatly, one next to the other in order of least to most disturbing mutilation. She had noticed that the books she had taken from the garbage bag had all the words crossed out, like Gertrude ran a black marker over them as she read. 

She eventually sat in her chair, only intending to write some things down, maybe organize the tapes Basira had given her. She side-eyed the locked bottom drawer that  _ folder _ sat in. There was no use bothering herself with what was most likely some mix-up that John was probably already aware of. She would probably have mentioned it, if it weren’t for the fact he was clearly uncomfortable with the officer. Now with whatever was going on with Martin, Sasha couldn’t dump the fact that Basira was pulling up personal files she probably should not legally have had access to. 

She hadn’t meant to get pulled into her notes, but she probably would have been sitting there for hours had it not been for the sound of a door creaking open, just outside her office. She froze, wondering if maybe John had returned, unable to locate that necklace, but then why would she have heard a door? Maybe he was checking Document Storage? There was no other sound but her breathing and the sound of a tape recorder she hadn’t realized was on running. She pulled herself up, walking on her toes to the door. Her hand hovered over the knob, as that creaking sound echoed again, and the click of a door closing. She yanked the door open. 

“John?” She waited, scanning the room. Nothing. She repeated herself, with the same result. She stepped tentatively out of the doorway. The creaking had sounded so close, like it was a door right next to her office, but there wasn’t one there. Just a blank wall. Still, she did a sweep of the area, checking Document Storage, the bathrooms, even a few of the empty offices people used to write statements in. Everything was empty. She sighed. God, she was tired. She made her way back to her office to gather her things, leaving the books where they were and shoving the tapes and her notes in the first drawer. She locked her door, leaning against it just to take a breath, before pushing off of it to leave. 

As she was passing the group of desks in the middle of the room, she noticed something sticking out from under the filing cabinets along the wall. She squinted at it, unable to make out what it was from that distance. She approached slowly, stopping just in front of it. It looked like a thin piece of dark wood, a worn rubber stopper fixed to the end of it. She crouched, wincing, before pulling it out from its hiding place. In her hand she held a cane, obviously made for someone much shorter than she was. The bronze metal handle was stained in old blood, roughly in the shape of a hand much smaller than her own. 5’1. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Pakistani. She shook her head, but was unable to dislodge the pressure building behind her eyes. 

She was missing something. She was missing something, and she didn’t know what it was, or why her eyes began blurring with tears, gripping the cane tight in her hands. Something so, so important was  _ missing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyones fine and having a GREAT time!!


	3. The New Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The creaking of the door as Helen left made her head shoot up in alarm before she could even realize why. She had heard it before, and it certainly wasn’t the sound of her own office door.

There were a lot of things about Helen Richardson that broke Sasha’s heart in a way she didn’t quite understand. Her desperation that was clearly becoming an obsession to make sense of the impossible experience she suffered, the fear she still harbored, and the fact it seemed that a part of her had not escaped those hallways after all. The way she described it, though—the yellow door, the shifting, twisting corridors—was familiar. Had she read it in a statement? She must have. She didn’t recall reading it, however, and surely she would have remembered someone else telling her about this in person? She shook herself out of her thoughts to tell Helen goodbye, giving her her personal phone number if she ever needed it. 

The creaking of the door as she left made her head shoot up in alarm before she could even realize why. She had heard it before, and it certainly wasn’t the sound of her own office door. She stood quickly, ignoring the pain lancing up her back as she did, a warning already tumbling out of her lips as she turned. The yellow door closed quietly, as if it hadn’t just swallowed Helen Richardson whole.

Sasha stood silently, staring at the door that had replaced the one that should have been there. What could she do? Go after her? Reach in and pull Helen out? She had the distinct feeling that it would only end in two victims rather than one. Still, she couldn’t quite stop herself from stepping forward, hand hovering over the handle that seemed to keep twisting around endlessly. It swung open before her fingers could even brush the metal, and she suddenly came face to face with who she knew had to be Michael. (Though she couldn’t remember how she knew his name.)

He was tall, much taller than her, but she couldn’t have said if it was only by a few inches or several feet. His blond hair seemed almost neon for a split second after she blinked, and the curls twisted and moved around themselves of their own accord. The most striking part was his hands. They looked almost as if they had been stretched and warped in Photoshop, his fingers were long with far too many joints, the tips of them ending in points too sharp and thin to see. His palms alone would probably have covered her entire head, and it was like they were lined with knuckles all the way down to the wrist. Sasha was frozen as one of said hands reached up in the most terrifying wave she had ever seen.

“Archivist,” The single word made her head spin. She could taste it, see it in the colors of the room. “I would like to speak with you.” Then Sasha was sitting at her desk, Michael was standing—no, sitting, in front of her. Did she remember going to her desk? Did she remember the twinge of pain as she sat down? Did she remember Michael endlessly folding himself into the guest chair on the other side? She felt like she did, maybe. Like someone would remember a dream. 

“What did you do to Helen?” Michael tilted his head, but his mouth seemed to stay in place. 

“Straight to the point, are we? I came to collect her. Unfortunately I can’t afford to allow her to wander my halls for as long as I typically would.” He seemed disappointed, and Sasha wasn’t sure whether that was a mercy for Helen or not. 

“What do you mean? Is she dead? Why are you here, talking to me?” That laugh echoed inside her head, as Michael's form flickered.

“You two  _ are _ very similar, aren’t you?”

“Me and Helen?” She asked. Michael shook his head, his smirk twisting into itself.

“No, no, you and my friend. The reason I’m here, actually. You see, I Do Not Know You has taken him away from me, and I plan to get him back. Normally I would consider myself neutral, but now, well…” He spread his hands out, the pinpoint tips of his fingers brushing the walls on either side of the room. “Now I must gather as much energy as I can to venture into another’s domain to find him. No, Helen Richardson is not dead, I don’t really  _ kill _ people, but she  _ is _ much more lost than she would have been, otherwise.” Sasha squeezed her eyes shut, just for a moment of relief from the growing migraine. So Helen wasn’t dead… but she might as well have been.

“So, what, you want my help saving your friend? Why would I help you after you just took an innocent woman?” She leaned forward, and leaned forward, and leaned forward, and—no, she didn’t. Michael did.

“I’m not something to be trusted, but you  _ do _ want to help. You just don’t know it. I would love to tell you, but I can’t reveal my meddling too soon, otherwise I may never get him back.” He was right. She  _ did _ want to help. Her mind kept pulling back to the cane she had hidden behind some shelves in her office, to the police report locked away in the drawer next to her. To knowing Michael’s name without remembering ever learning it. She wanted to help find Michael’s friend, but she couldn’t connect her reasons why.

“Right. Okay, then.” She gave a heavy sigh that she watched leave her mouth. “What do you want me to do to help?” His fingers tapped on her desk, clipping through like some bad video game.

“Take a closer look at things, Archivist. It won’t let you figure it out naturally. You know you have your suspicions, and I’m sure if you really focus, you’ll be able to make sense of them.”  _ 5’1. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Pakistani. Thin fingers fiddling with a cane.  _ Michael’s face darkened, his form glitching and twisting before he seemed to pull himself back together. Had she said that out loud? 

“Did you?” She jumped as Michael spoke.

“Did-did I what?”

“Say that out loud?” Her breath caught in her throat. Every moment with this… entity in her office made her feel as if she was losing more and more of her grip on reality. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself back together.

“Um, is-is that all? Just look at things and focus really hard?” She expected the laugh this time, but it didn’t stop her from having to grind her teeth. He slowed to a stop with a soft sigh.

“Very similar indeed. I just have one question, then I’ll get out of your hair.” (Sasha resolutely ignored the sudden paranoid thought that her hair was falling out.) 

“Alright.” He stood, then, and Sasha felt like it took hours, maybe days. Or maybe she blinked and he was suddenly standing and standing and standing, towering next to her. 

“Are you aware of anything that was delivered to this Institute recently? A table of sorts, perhaps?” It took her a second to remember, especially past the static in her head. It had seemed like nothing, the table and the lighter she had haphazardly tossed in the top drawer of her desk. She had been so distracted by investigating Gertrude's murder, mapping the maze of tunnels with Tim, that both of the items had left her mind within the day.

“Yeah, yeah there was, I think it’s in Artifact Storage. Why, do you want it?” Standing so close, Michael's giggle made her brain feel like it was boiling in her skull. The colors in the room flashed bright and neon. Then Michael drifted back towards the door.

“No, I would never be able to take it into my hallways. I was just wondering where it was located. For future reference.” He opened the yellow door, that stock sound of the creaking hinge eating away at all other noise in the room, as if it were playing directly into her ears a thousand times over. Michael stopped as he stepped in, his head popping back out. “You don’t happen to own an axe, do you, Archivist?” She felt her mouth open and close a few times.

“Uh, n-no. I don’t.” Michael hummed.

“Might want to change that. For future reference.” The door closed, blinking away into the dark wood of her office door, and Sasha sunk into her seat, hoping the spinning in her head would stop soon.

  
  


⸻

  
  


Sasha had been nervous about taking statements in person ever since Helen. Melanie, at least, she didn’t suspect would fall victim to a sanity-eating hallway who was missing its best friend. She still kept flashing glances at the door, which remained the same dark stained wood. When they had first met, Sasha could admit they didn’t get along too well. She tried to suppress her sceptic tendencies, but, considering how Melanie reacted, she didn’t do a good job of masking the faces she was making. 

So Melanie was one of the last people she expected to be sitting in front of her. She had barged in, John frantically trailing behind her, giving Sasha a rather useless and belated warning. Melanie had already thrown herself in the guest chair by the time John had breathlessly explained how “I  _ tried _ to tell her to wait for me to let you know she was here but she just walked right past me!” He finally left, his grumbling about telling Bouchard to not allow people under 5’5 into the Archives fading away. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before Melanie spoke.

“Okay, I’ll settle for ‘we were both kinda dicks to each other’ and we can move on, that sound good to you?” She still stood, as if ready to bolt if need be. Sasha gave a nod in agreement, and Melanie, as rushed as she always seemed to be, pulled a chair around to Sasha’s side of the desk and sat down. She stared at her.

“Um… are you here for a reason, or?” Sasha asked, growing more confused by the moment. Melanie gestured to the tape recorder sitting on the desk.

“Aren’t you gonna turn that on?” Sasha stared at the recorder for a good few seconds before it clicked.

“Oh! Oh, you’re here to make another statement! Uh, okay!” Sasha clicked the recorder on, pushing it forward toward Melanie. “Alright, what uh, what made you want to come back?” Melanie began unbuttoning her floral top, and Sasha had barely gotten through a stuttered response before she pulled the fabric to the side, revealing a dark, jagged scar cutting across her shoulder.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘Oh.’ I was stabbed by a ghost. Seems like a good reason to make a statement, don’t you think?” Sasha gave another dumb nod.

“I mean, yeah. It sure is a good reason. Okay then! Uh, Statement of Melanie King, recorded from subject regarding uh—”

“Regarding war ghosts.”

“Regarding war ghosts. Recorded 13th of February, 2017. Go on.” Melanie cleared her throat.

Melanie’s statement was about what was typical of the kind the Institute usually got. Which meant it was incredibly discomforting and left Sasha with an increasing sense of dread, and the feeling she was being watched. 

“That’s sort of… it, I guess? The charges were dropped after I recovered, and I came here to use your library. I found out that carriage was from World War II. The 11th US Army Hospital train. Was operating in the European theatre from August 1944. The crew was commended and everything!” She paused for a breath. She looked a little manic, and Sasha didn’t blame her.

“I imagine that’s not all?”

“But! It crashed. In April 1945, it derailed and killed 5 of the crew and injured 14. No  _ official  _ patients on board. There was just one train car that avoided derailment. There isn’t much more on it, though, and I can’t figure out how it ended up in Rotherham. So, I came here. The most detailed description of the crash was from a report from this guy William W. Hay, and I know you guys have the unedited copies of his work.” Sasha hummed.

“Yeah, that guy was an occultist, all his published work was heavily edited. Did you find anything?” Melanie began rifling through the large purse she had tossed on Sasha’s desk, pulling out a folder full of papers, pulling one out and handing it over.

“Oh absolutely. He was on that train as an engineer, and he said a lot about that. They let me make a photocopy.” Sasha read over the paper carefully, her eyebrows scrunching up. She read it over a second time.

“Alright, so this means…” Melanie snatched the paper back, stuffing it back into the folder without much care for organization.

“I’ve got a plane to India booked already.” She stood, and Sasha was quick to follow.

“Are you sure, Melanie? This seems like it could be  _ really _ dangerous—” Her concern was waved away with the folder and Melanie tried to find room for it again in her purse.

“I’ll be fine, I don’t need your concern! Besides, from what that gossip told me, you’ve been all sort of obsessive, so don’t be a hypocrite. If I do get murdered by ghosts, though, you have my statement!” Her bag thunked against the chair as Melanie swung it over her shoulder.

“John said I was obsessive?” She couldn’t help the sting she felt at that. She knew he was an insatiable gossip, but she never thought he would talk like that about her.

“What? No, the guy that brought me down here. Where is Jon, by the way? I was actually kind of looking forward to arguing with him before my trip.” Sasha shook her head, confused.

“What? John was the one that brought you down here.” She followed Melanie to the door.

“Oh, there’s two of them? What, you collecting them or something? I guess it  _ is _ a common name, but—” Melanie turned the door handle, but Sasha put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“There’s only one John, Melanie.” Was she alright? Had her encounter done something to her? Melanie huffed, pulling away.

“You know who I’m talking about, little guy, nice hair? South Asian, I think, walks with a cane? Kind of a dick but in a relatable way? He was here when I came in like April or something. We got into a shouting match over Amityville.”  _ A withering glare to hide a smile. ‘You know you have your suspicions.’ _ Sasha shook her head.

“That’s—Melanie, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Are you feeling alright?” Melanie’s grip on the door handle had gone white-knuckled. 

“Are-are you  _ gaslighting _ me right now?” Sasha reeled back.

“What? No! Melanie—”

“I’m not crazy! That isn’t the same person I met before! I thought you actually believed me, but this is just a joke to you, isn’t it?” She wrenched the door open, and stormed out. Sasha stepped out after her.

“Melanie, please!” Melanie whipped around.

“Fuck you!” She shouted, flipping Sasha off as she turned back, and disappeared around the corner. Sasha was left floundering in the doorway of her office. She was startled by a low whistle.

“What happened, hun?” John asked from his desk. Martin and Tim were nowhere in sight, probably on a lunch break. John’s easy smile made her feel sick.

“I uh, I’m not sure.” His head cocked to the side with a small pout, eyebrows knit together.

“You aren’t sure? Hun, she stormed out of your office like a scorned lover!” He leaned forward, and Sasha had the sudden thought that his limbs were just a little too long. “Wait, is she? Were you two together?” She shook herself out of whatever bizarre fear had rooted her to the ground.

“What? No, she just—I said some parts of her statement didn’t make sense, and she got mad and yelled at me a bit before leaving.” The lie rolled off her tongue with a surprising ease. She had never lied to her friends, not like that. Not so easily. John clicked his tongue, his eyes locked on her. There was a long, long pause before he turned back to his computer with a dramatic flourish.

“Aw, I was kind of hoping for some office drama. Oh well. Tim and Martin should be back soon with food, maybe they’ll have some interesting story to share.” Sasha backed into her office, closing the door. She stood there for a few seconds.  _ ‘Take a closer look at things. It won’t let you figure it out naturally.’ Nice hair, he let her braid it a few times. Gave her the recipe for the hair mask he used. _ He? Sasha felt like she was losing her mind. Was she? She knew John, he was her friend. Had been for years. 

She didn’t know who this other person invading her memories was. But Melanie did. Who was he?  _ ‘If you really focus, you’ll be able to make sense of things.’  _ Okay. She needed to focus.

Sasha didn’t leave her office for the rest of the day, waiting for the others, for John, to leave. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but she knew she couldn't ask for help on this one. It hurt to think about sneaking behind her friends backs, but the gnawing sense that something was  _ wrong, _ that the people she cared about were in danger, kept her from losing her nerve. Tim and John left first, asking her if she wanted to go out for drinks, which she declined with the excuse that she had to meet up with Melanie to apologize. 

She came very close to confessing everything to Martin, when he came to her door, asking if she wanted him to walk her out.When she had said, no, she needed to get some more work done, his face had screwed up in that way it did when he was concerned but didn’t want to step over any boundaries by pushing things. He gave her a tight smile, softly closing the door behind him as he left. She resisted the urge to run after him. But she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk him getting hurt if whatever was going on went sideways. 

She waited about 30 minutes before she left her office, pushing away the guilt as she knelt in front of John’s desk. What was she thinking? Sure, she wasn’t one to go on about breeches of privacy, considering her habit of sneaking onto peoples computers, but this was different. That was so, so different. She was doing this because she, what? Thought John might be some sort of monster? Might not be who he claims to be? God, what if the person on the edge of her memories is the monster? What if those memories get stronger, and the ones of John get weaker? She should have said something to them, should have told everyone about what Meanie said, they probably have been experiencing the same thing—

The lock on the bottom drawer clicked open. She barely even recalled pulling the little lock-picking kit Tim had gotten her for her birthday out. She leaned back on her heels. She had to be sure. Her eyes watered everything she thought about the cane in her office.  _ Tap-tap-tapping away, a stim that became background noise for her. She loved that sound. Had the Archives always been so empty without it? _ She leaned forward, pulling the drawer out all the way. There was a paper bag pushed to the back. She pulled it out, opening it. It was full of tapes. She didn’t get around to inspecting them, though. Her eyes fell on something else in the drawer, a small, square piece of paper caught slightly under the edge. Her own handwriting was on the back.  _ ‘Happy Birthday, Jon!’  _ Her hands shook as she picked it up. 

The first thing she noticed as she flipped it over, was that it was a polaroid from her own camera back home. The second was the people in it. There was Martin, and Tim, and they were towering over someone in the middle. She felt her breath speeding up, hot tears on her face before she even realized.

  
She knew  _ exactly _ who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! Had some Bad Brain Hours, but here's chapter 3! Michael was so fun to write, I may have gotten a little carried away lmao. Raise your hand if you Hate John.  
> Comments are always appreciated, no matter if it's an essay or incoherent screaming!  
> Anyways, here's the line-up for Cabinet Man on my tumblr, void-spirals!  
> https://void-spirals.tumblr.com/post/628422453822177280/the-line-up-for-part-2-of-my-archivist-sasha


	4. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's not technically the right pronunciation."  
> "What do you mean it's not technically the right pronunciation? How do you pronounce it?"  
> "Like the name of the Greek muse it's named after is pronounced. 'Kuh-ly-o-pee'. There are all sorts of ways it's pronounced, but, when you take into account its origin, that would be the 'correct' way."

Sasha barely remembered her drive home. Barely remembered letting herself into her flat, or burning her hand when her mug overflowed with boiling water. She sat at the small kitchen table she mostly used as a workspace for whatever random hobby she picked up. The boxes of oil pastels and blank doll heads were pushed aside, though, and the tapes she had recovered from John's desk were laid out in front of her. She had already broken one of her nails fiddling with the tape recorder in her lap, but she kept picking at the grooves of the plastic anyways.

She knew there were tapes that had gone missing during Prentiss' attack. She had figured they had been contaminated and destroyed along with several other objects around the Archives, but no. They had been sitting in a desk drawer barely 20 feet from her. And now she knew she had to listen to them, and she knew what she would hear, but that didn't make it easier. The pressure behind her eyes was already building; she was remembering things that were so different from what was there before, almost like peeling new paint away to reveal what was originally underneath.

She took a deep breath, letting it all out in one go as she snatched up a tape and shoved it into the recorder. Her fingers felt numb as she hit the play button. Her own voice echoed around her flat. She drowned it out as she waited for what she knew was coming.

‘ _ "That's not technically the right pronunciation."’  _ The sob that ripped its way out of her was strangled and loud, and she slammed her hand on the recorder, fingers desperately searching for the pause button. Her other hand was clamped tightly over her mouth as she shook. It was like all of the grief that she  _ should _ have been feeling hit her all at once, the second she heard his voice. Low, with an accent that made him sound condescending even if he wasn't trying to be. He sounded like someone who hadn't slept properly in weeks. She took steadying breaths, in and out, in, and out, Then hit play.

‘ _ "What do you mean it's not  _ technically  _ the right pronunciation? How do  _ you _ pronounce it?" There was a subtle thump on the wood floor, a shuffle of some loose fabric as Jo— as someone stepped into her office. _

_ "Like the name of the Greek muse it's named after is pronounced. 'Kuh-ly-o-pee'. There are all sorts of ways it's pronounced, but, when you take into account its origin, that would be the 'correct' way."  _

_ "Well, that's fascinating. Did you come in here just to give me a greek mythology lesson or…" _

_ "Oh! Uh, n-no, I just finished up research on the-the last statement you gave me, so um. Yeah."  _

_ "The statement I gave you yesterday? Jon, did you get any sleep?" The same thump, shuffle of fabric  _ (a heavy skirt she remembered admiring _ ), and her office door squeaking slightly. _

_ "I'll wait for you to finish what you're doing, actually so, uh, bye." The door squeaked more, but didn't close  _ (He hated knocking).’

The rest of the statement played, but Sasha didn't hear any of it. Her ears were ringing, and the pressure behind her eyes was growing painful. She pulled the tape out as it clicked off, and she reached for another, freezing with her hand hovering over the small pile. She couldn’t do this alone. Just one of those tapes left memories pressing together, fighting in her head. She needed someone with her. She needed support. 

Her phone was pressed against her ear in a trembling hand, ringing long enough for her to begin having second thoughts, before her call was answered with a rustle on the other end.

_ “Nng… hello?” _ Sasha wiped her face with a sniffle, tears threatening to fall again. 

“M-Martin, hey. I-I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” She cringed at the audible tremble in her voice. There was more rustling, and she heard Martin take in a sharp breath.

_ “Sasha, are you okay?”  _ He sounded wide awake, then, and Sasha almost felt his concern through the phone. She choked back a sob, fingers tapping over the tape recorder.

“Um, no, I uh—” She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. “I’m not, actually.”

_ “O-okay, can you tell me what happened, Sasha? Where are you right now? Do you need me to call someone?”  _ He had gotten out of bed, if the sound of squeaking floorboards on his side was anything to go by.

“No, I’m home, I just, um… I found something, and I-I need you to come over? O-Or I can go over there I just need to talk to you, I need to show you what I found. P-Please? I don’t want to be alone, Martin, I c-can’t—”

_ “Woah, hey, okay, that's alright. I’ll go to you, okay? I don’t want you driving while you’re upset. I’ll be there really soon. Do you want me to let Tim and John know?”  _ Her hand gripped tight to her phone, and she shook her head before she remembered Martin couldn’t see her.

“No, no don’t! Please don’t say anything to them, okay? Promise you won’t.” Martin was quiet for a moment.

_ “Okay, that’s—yeah, I promise, Sasha. Do you need me to stay on the phone with you until I get there?” _ She drew in another shaky breath, looking down at the mess piled on the table.

“Uh, no, no, I need to um… I need to clean up a little, distract myself, yeah? Just text me when you get here, I’ll buzz you in.” The two of them said their goodbyes, hanging up. Sasha stood, and began doing everything she could to keep her mind off of the conflicting memories.

  
  


⸻

  
  


Tim’s voice echoed from the tinny speaker around her flat.

‘ _ “Face it, every last one of you would drop everything for the chance to date me! I’m the most lovable person in this whole damn building!” Sasha’s own laugh, Martin's sigh, and an unfamiliar, familiar scoff. _

_ “Tim,”’  _ Martin flinched next to her on her ratty couch at that voice. ‘ _ “The day I go on a date with you is the day something has gone horribly wrong.” _

_ “Oh, please! I would woo you so hard you would want to get married the next day! It’s my superpower!” _

_ “Your superpower is to make people want to marry you?” _

_ “Listen, Jon, just you wait. You’re just a tough nut to crack. Martin and Sasha would marry me if I asked, right?” Martin sputtered in response. _

_ “Oh absolutely. For tax purposes, of course.” Sasha replied. _

_ “Of course. Sasha’s recording this, Jonny boy. One day we’ll listen to this and you’ll wonder how you ever were immune to my charms.”’  _

The tape clicked off, and Sasha replaced it with the last in the pile. Martin grabbed her hand before she could hit play. He was just as much of a mess as she was. They had already listened to a few tapes, each one with that same voice. Each time, memories bubbled up, becoming clearer, battling with the ones that were beginning to feel stitched in place.

“Can-can we take a minute? I just… I need to breathe.” She nodded, and Martin gave her hand a squeeze before standing, pacing around her flat. She rubbed hard at her eyes, pressing until she saw spots. God, her head was killing her.

“Hey, Martin, there’s a bottle of Paracetamol on the counter in the kitchen, could you grab it?” He shuffled off, and she could hear him looking through the various bottles she kept there, before coming back.

“It’s that pressure, right? Like your head is too full or something.” He settled back next to her, grabbing two pills for himself, before handing the bottle to Sasha. 

“Yeah, and I’ve got it behind my eyes, too.” She pulled the tape recorder into her lap.

“I’m not getting that. Just the headache.” He stared down at the recorder. “I have a bad feeling about this one, Sasha.”

“Me too.” She sighed, and pressed play.

‘ _ “I figured you would want to know what’s going on, I know I would. We have that in common, I guess; always wanting to know everything. Uh, there are worms on the upper floor. Not anywhere near the amount that are in the Archives, but still.” He sounded like he was in pain. _

_ “I found the fire alarm and set it off. I think everyone got out? I think Elias is still here somewhere, he must be, since the fire suppression system hasn’t gone off yet. We got seperated because of the worms. I’m in Artefact Storage. I know you hate it down here. There’s another thing we have in common. For me it’s just… seems like a stupid idea to have all this stuff in one place.  _

_ “I-I know I have the whole ‘skeptic’ thing but… I’m realizing that was more a coping mechanism than an actual mindset? Had a uh, a pretty awful encounter with a Leitner when I was a child and I just—I just don’t like the feeling I get here. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, hoping something doesn’t push you. I wonder if you feel the same way? Remind me to ask you when we get out of this.” There was silence for a moment, the only sound was the uneven shuffling of footsteps. _

_ “Um, anyways, I don’t see any worms down here, which is good because I won't be getting away from anything quickly. Lost my cane when I left to get Martin. Hopefully the worms don’t eat wood, it was rather pricey.” The shuffling stopped, a quiet ‘thunk’ that Sasha interpreted as him leaning against something. _

_ “Oh, I think this is the table you and Martin mentioned? It’s some sort of-of optical illusion or something, the kind that gives you a headache. It's sort of like… um…” He drew in a sharp breath, the sound of clumsy feet accompanied by a pained noise. When he spoke again, it was hushed. “I-I think—Sasha I think there might be someone down here with me.” There was a pause. “H-Hello? I-I can see you! I know you’re there, I see you!” Something funny happened with the audio, some sort of distortion. Then there was screaming. _

_ It tugged hard at Sasha’s heart. Her knuckles were white around the recorder. It began to get quieter, muffled, as the sound of wood creaking and cracking was heard. Then it stopped.  _

_ “I know you’re there.” She and Martin both stopped breathing. It was warped and distorted, but they recognized that liverpool accent. “I see you.” The voice was clear, and it was obvious who it belonged to. They heard the sound of nails tapping on wood. “Let’s try something a little different, hmm? You’ll die eventually, hun, but for now I need the extra energy. Now we need to clean up.” The tape clicked off.’ _

Sasha stared at the recorder. It felt like she sat there for hours, eyes unfocused, her mind buzzing painfully. She jumped when Martin shifted next to her, bringing a hand over his mouth.

“I knew.” His voice was muffled (just like the sound of… of Jon screaming as that thing…) “I knew something was  _ off. _ Something wasn’t right, I could  _ feel it! _ I-I had this idea of who he was that never seemed to match what h-he actually did, b-but I was just… I was just remembering the person he  _ replaced. _ ” Sasha reached up to lay a hand on Martin’s shoulder, leaning against him.

“Melanie knew, too, but it was… it was different. Like she remembers J-Jon, and had no idea who this-this  _ Not  _ Jon was.” Sasha drew in a breath before speaking again. “I kept finding these statements about this thing, people who are the only ones to not be affected. I… god I think  _ I _ was one of those people, that fucking teacher that I kept telling everyone wasn’t the same woman she was before. But in all those statements,with my teacher, they still have the same memories, it’s just other people see a different face, someone who acts different but the past is still the  _ same. _ ” Martin had taken the tape out, twirling it around his fingers.

“It said ‘Let’s try something a little different.’ I-It must be experimenting, or something. Seeing how far it can go. How much it can change. That might be why I wasn’t affected all the way. It hadn’t… it hadn’t perfected it’s new method.” They were both silent, Sasha running her thumb over the cleft in her lip, Martin staring angrily at the tape.

“I found a picture of him. It was with the tapes.” She didn’t move to get it. She didn’t want to look at the person she barely remembered, but left a hole in her chest anyways. Martin was warm and comforting, running a hand through her hair. He didn’t ask to see the picture.

“Sasha, what are we going to tell Tim?” Sasha’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh  _ god. _ ” This thing made Tim think he  _ loved _ it. Would he even listen to them? Even if he did, it could  _ break _ him. They still needed to tell him. “Uh, o-okay. Tomorrow, you get Tim alone, take him out for lunch or something. Show him the tapes. While you two are gone, I’m fucking destroying that table.” Martin pulled away to stare at her.

“What?” 

“The Not Jon is linked to it somehow, it has to be important!” Martin shook his head.

“Will that even work? How do you know it won’t just release it or something? What if it’s some kind of prison?” That was possible, but… 

“Michael. The thing that took Helen. It asked about the table, then asked me if I owned an axe. I think he wants me to destroy it.” She took the tape from Martin’s hand, setting it down on the counter. He didn’t protest.

“H-How do you know this  _ Michael _ isn’t working with this other monster?” He asked, clearly struggling to grasp her point.

“Because he said it took his friend.  _ Jon _ was his friend, I’m remembering that. He wants our help to save Jon. Martin, he might still be alive! I’m willing to risk letting the thing that took him loose if it means we might get him back.” He stared at her for a long while, teary eyes searching hers as he seemed to think it over. Then he nodded, slowly. 

“Okay. If you think he could still be alive, that we could save him, I’m willing to risk that too. I may have a hard time remembering him, but I  _ do _ remember that I care about him. That I would do anything to see him again.” Sasha smiled at him, before standing on her toes and pulling his head down to kiss his cheek. 

“I’ll leave early tomorrow, buy an axe somewhere. It’ll be tough to sneak in, but I could stuff it into a tote bag with some statement copies I brought home to look over. You should stay here, it’s like—” she glanced at her phone, “Christ, it’s past three in the morning. We should try to get some sleep.” Martin helped her gather the tapes strewn across her coffee table, piling them neatly on her kitchen counter. Eventually the two of them fell asleep, curled around one another on the couch. A tape recorder clicked off.

  
  


⸻

  
  


The axe was easy to find. She and Martin even got into the Archive before anyone else, which made sneaking it in even easier. She hid it next to the cane she had shoved between a filing cabinet and the wall. She had tried to convince Martin to leave and come back at a more reasonable time, but he had refused to leave her alone. It was a good thing he had; she had a much harder time playing along when Tim and "John" showed up than Martin did. He covered for her behavior easily, weaving a quick lie about how he stayed with her while she was sick overnight.

The both of them were quick to try and convince her to go home and get some rest, but she already had an issue with being stubborn (Didn’t Jon, as well?), and she didn’t have to argue too hard before they gave up. So, she holed herself up in her office, and pretended to do work until Martin eventually sent her a text confirming his side of the plan was underway.

It was an agonizing few hours. Sasha kept glancing down at her phone, then back up to where she knew the axe was. Her fists were clenched as she resisted the urge to march right out of her office with the thing and bring it down on that monster's head. That wouldn’t go over well. But she couldn’t quite stop herself from imagining how cathartic it would feel. 

She checked her phone again. Nothing. Put it down, tried not to stare at the hiding place, and checked her phone yet again. The cycle repeated. She was in the process of staring down at her messages with Martin, when her office door swung open. She wasn’t able to suppress the yelp that had been startled out of her.

“Heey Sash!” Tim hung off the door, swinging back and forth. 

“Fuck… don’t  _ do _ that, Tim! You scared me half to death!” Sasha pulled her hand away from where it had been pressed against her chest.

“Oh, sorry.” He didn’t look very sorry, if the poorly hidden smirk on his face was anything to go by. “Martin and I are running down to the sandwich shop down the street, want anything? Martin’s paying so you can get whatever you like.” Shit. She felt horrible for snapping at him. She knew what was coming next, and she knew Tim well enough to know he wouldn’t handle it very well.

“Uh, no, I don’t want anything. I brought some soup from home, I’m still not feeling too great. Thanks, though. Or, I guess tell Martin thanks for me.” She almost felt proud of herself for the way she managed to act mostly normal. Like the friend she was talking to wasn’t about to have his world crumble around him. He thumped on the door, before giving her a nod.

“I’ll probably still get you a snack, though. Not that you need one, since this office is full of snacks!” His last comment was shouted as he left, leaving the door cracked. (He couldn’t even remember why he always did that. Couldn’t remember how Jon hated knocking, but never wanted to barge in.  _ She  _ barely remembered it.) He wasn’t gone for very long before her phone chimed with a new text.

**_Martin!:_ **

**_Were leaving now, john is walking us out and said hes gonna gossip with rosie til we get back so ur good to go. Please be safe._ **

She bit down on her lip, her eyes shifting back toward the door.

**Me:**

**i will be dw. try 2 keep tim from breaking down in public.**

**also ill let u know when u can come back.**

** <3 u martin**

She retrieved her axe, and pulled the door open when her phone announced another text.

**_Martin!:_ **

**_Love u too sasha. I mean it, be safe. I cant lose another friend._ **

She set her phone to silent, before shoving it into her pocket. Artefact Storage had been off-limits since the Prentiss attack, Elias mentioning something about one of the artefacts “reacting” to the event poorly and causing health concerns that the Institute was unequipped to deal with. She would be fine. Probably. It was too late to turn back, she was already knelt in front of the lock. For a warehouse full of dangerous, supernatural objects, it wasn’t the most secure. Sasha was pretty sure the supply closet at least had a deadbolt.

She had a good idea of where the table would be. There was a whole section dedicated to fucked up furniture. She remembered getting bored one day when she still worked down there and arranging some of the items into a living room with one of her coworkers. The terrifying, psychedelic visions were worth it. 

She found the table locked away in a room with a few other objects, and that was around the time she realized she had brought a tape recorder with her. Perhaps a subconscious desire to document what was happening? She didn’t pay it too much mind. She was too busy setting it down, hefting the axe over her shoulder.

“Please still be alive, Jon. I want to remember you. Please let this save you.” She brought the axe down, the wood splintering under it. She wacked it a few more times, until the top of it was practically destroyed. It was hollow. Empty except for broken cobwebs coated in dust. Sasha twirled around the room, hoping maybe he would just appear. Nothing. She peered into the hole she left in the table.  _ Nothing. _ She lifted the axe again, screaming as she swung it forward wildly.

Directly into a bright, yellow door.

All she could do for a moment was stare, before she pulled the axe out of the wood as easily as if it were butter. The yellow color swirled around the crack left behind, filling it up until there was no evidence of her outburst.

“Now, Archivist, you don’t see me hitting you with an axe, do you?” Michael stood in front of her, the door suddenly open as if it had glitched. She took a few stumbling steps back.

“I—you-you said I would help  _ save _ him! You said I was helping to get him  _ back! _ Where is he, Michael?!” He stepped forward, tutting her like she was a child throwing a tantrum.

“Patience, Archivist. I simply needed you to free the being bound to this table, so it’s hold on our Jon would weaken. I’ll do the rest. You, however, need a door. It isn’t far now.” She opened her mouth to argue, but she was quickly interrupted.

“Saaashaaaa…” Sasha froze, eyes wide toward the glass door leading into the room. There were shadows, horrible, broken-looking shadows. “Where are you, hun?” His voice sounded the way it did on Jon’s last recording, like too many people trying to speak at once.

“Oh, god… wh-what do I—” Michael's yellow door swung open again, looping a few times before it stayed open.

“You. Need. A door. Go on, I won’t keep you. I don’t think you would be very good for me, anyways.” She glanced out the glass again, the shadows closer and even more horrible than before. Sasha ran into the twisting hallway axe still in hand, and heard a slam behind her. When she turned around, the door was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Sasha, we're really in it now.
> 
> (comments are always appreciated and make my day!)


	5. The Librarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t supposed to be happening. It was all going so wrong. She put everyone in danger with this stupid plan. She may have gotten Tim and Martin killed in her pathetic attempt to save someone she barely remembered and was most likely dead already.

Sasha’s trip through the hallways wasn’t as mind-breaking as she thought it would be. It seemed Michael genuinely wanted to save her, or at least wanted to attempt to. She stumbled through the first yellow door she saw, which at first had looked like a crayon drawing on the wall until she reached for the 2D handle and was somehow able grab it. When she stepped through, it seemed she had been thrown into total darkness, her eyes needing to adjust from the bright, painful colors she was previously bathing in.

She managed to pull out her phone with shaking hands, turning on her flashlight. She was in a corridor, with dusty stone walls, and a molding wooden door leaned open not far from her. It struck her, suddenly, where she was. The damn tunnels under the Institute spread out on either side of her, the lingering smell of rot almost made her gag. She wasn’t thinking, when she shot off in a random direction. Her only real goal was to get the fuck away. 

It wasn’t until after several random turns down the first branching corridors she saw did she slow to a stop, realizing how stupid she was being. The maps she and Tim had made were on her phone. They had never managed to explore everything, but as she actually took in her surroundings, it began to look somewhat familiar. It took her a few tries to unlock her phone, but her search for the map was halted by the missed texts and calls from Martin. 

**_Martin!:_ **

**_Im sorry sasha tim didnt handle it very well and hes heading back right now i tried to stall him but he wouldnt listen hes really mad please call me back_ **

**_Martin!:_ **

**_Sasha please call me please tell me everythings okay_ **

**_Martin!:_ **

**_Im folowing tim back he dosnt want me to but i wont let him go back in there alone please sasha please be alive pleas ebe okay_ **

**_Martin!:_ **

**_I see john_ **

Sasha could have sworn her heart stopped for a moment. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. It was all going so  _ wrong. _ She put everyone in danger with this stupid plan. She may have gotten Tim and Martin killed in her pathetic attempt to save someone she barely remembered and was most likely dead already. 

She blinked back the tears quickly forming in her eyes; she couldn’t panic. Her boys were capable, they could defend themselves. _Jon couldn’t._ No. They were probably fine. She just needed to get out of the tunnels and find them, then they could kill that monster. She took a steadying breath, before finding the map on her phone, and began to make her way through.

  
  


⸻

  
  


It wasn’t long before Sasha heard that fucking  _ thing _ calling her. She barely had a moment to wonder how it managed to find her, before it dragged her name out again, closer. She ducked quickly through a half-collapsed doorway, curling the best she could into a gap in the rubble. Her back screamed at her as she wedged herself tighter, and she felt blood trickling down her chin from where she was biting it to keep from crying out.

“I’m sorry, hun,” its voice carried so far down there, she couldn’t tell if it was several corridors away or standing at the doorway. “You weren’t supposed to remember anything. I don’t usually do this, you see. Normally I keep the memories intact, and just take their place. But I just wanted to try something  _ new! _ I wanted to make someone  _ better! _ The other one, he wasn’t as good as me. 

“He was rude and temperamental, a terrible friend. I’m so nice! I love talking to people, making people feel safe and welcome. Everyone loves me the moment they meet me. I gave Tim someone to hold on to, you know? Sure, the other one was his friend, but I’m so much more. It would break him if  _ I _ was gone. And I’m  _ brave _ . I stand my ground. The other one was a  _ bitch _ who couldn’t handle someone so much as raising their voice at him—”

_ “Shut up!” _ She slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

“Oh, you’re down this way. Stay right there, hun, I’ll come to you. Maybe I’ll wear you, this time. None of the nonsense I did with the other one. He took too much energy anyways, keeping him alive and struggling for so long. It was fun while it lasted, though.” She could hear the creaking of its awful joints, its feet sliding along the stone, disturbing the debris that had built up. 

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered into the still-running recorder she clutched to her chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.” That broken shadow spread across the floor next to her, and that layered voice giggled, echoing around the room.

“Found you.” She wanted to scream, as she watched its fingers curl around the nook she had hidden in, but she was frozen, her breath caught in her throat as each long, jagged fingernail tapped against the stone. Her eyes squeezed shut, remembering how much pain Jon had seemed to be in when it took him. Then the floor began to shake, the sound of stone and brick shifting and cracking nearly deafening, and suddenly she felt herself drop.

She barely had time to register the awful sound that must have been the monster screaming in agony, before she hit the ground with a painful thud. It took her a moment to remember to breathe, trying to work past the pain lancing up and down her spine. When she finally managed to take a deep breath, she opened her eyes, coming face-to-face with a man, leaning over her. She tried to scramble back, only to cry out in pain and fall back to the floor. 

“O-Oh, good lord, are you alright? I’m so sorry for the fall, but that creature was too close to you, I had to bring you down to the lower level so I could trap it. I-I hope I didn’t injure you too badly.” She stared at him, still trying to blink the stars out of her eyes. He was an older man, unkempt and clutching a book in his hands. Did he say lower level? She and Tim had never found evidence of more tunnels below what they had already discovered.

“W-Who the hell are you?” She tried and failed again to get up. The man shuffled where he stood, eyes glancing around the dark room they were in.

“I—do you need help up, young lady?” She gave the best glare she could from the floor.

“ _ No. _ I just want—” She bit down on her already-ruined lip as she fell back again. “Fine. Please help me up.” He set the book down at his feet, before gripping her arms and pulling her to her feet, muttering apologies as she cursed in pain. When she was steady, she quickly wiped the tears she couldn’t hold back away. She leaned heavily against a brick wall, and watched him pick his book back up.

“So, who are you?” He glanced around the room again, as if worried there was someone listening to them.

“My name is Jurgen Leitner. Uh, I believe we actually have a lot to discuss.”

  
  


⸻

  
  


At some point during Leitner’s statement, Sasha eased herself down onto an overturned shelf, as standing was making it hard for her to pay attention. She had thought about taking him back to her office, but for one, she knew she wouldn't be able to walk much yet, and for two, she had no idea how to get back. So, she listened to the old man describe his terrible life choices, like collecting evil books, or getting the shit kicked out of him by one Gerard Keay. 

He  _ was  _ helpful, though, but Sasha found herself feeling overwhelmed by the new information. The realization that, what, gods? Interdimensional aliens? Entities, she settled for, had influence in their world, and that the Institute was some sort of place of power to one, the Beholding; it left her feeling somewhat dazed. Every time she thought her life couldn’t get more fucked up and out of control, some new eldritch monstrosity had to come swinging.

“There’s one more thing, actually. Something I need to give you.” Leitner fumbled through the worn backpack he carried, and Sasha caught sight of a few books. God, she hoped it wasn’t a book. “When I heard who the new Archivist was, when I learned your name, I remembered that Gertrude had mentioned you before. She told me that she made a tape for you, to listen to if we failed to destroy the Institute. Um, it took me a while to find it, but, well…” he finally retrieved what he had been searching for, and held out what she assumed was the tape, wrapped up in a brown paper bag.

“What’s on it?” She asked, tentatively taking it from him. She unraveled the bag, and tipped the tape out into her hand. It was unmarked, there was nothing that seemed  _ special _ about it. It was just a tape.

“I have no idea. It wasn’t meant for me. I don’t recommend you listen to it right this moment, though. Elias will be suspicious about how long you’ve been down here. I’ll move things around, make it easier on you.” He flipped through the book he had been keeping close, muttering words to quiet for her to hear. She felt the room shift, and the vibrations lanced up her back. She breathed heavily through the pain, and when she cracked her eyes open, the ladder leading up to the trapdoor was on the wall in front of her. Leitner was gone.

Climbing up the ladder was actual hell. It took her a good five minutes, pulling herself up a rung, stopping until her back stopped seizing. She managed to push her way out, though, and sat on the floor, working up the energy to stand. She used the wall to help her, and she thought longingly of the walker she had shoved in the back of her closet. It wasn’t long before she noticed Martin’s voice, sounding frantic. Another shot of adrenaline pushed her to move faster, following it to the breakroom. 

The first thing she noticed was Tim, leaning against the far wall, arms wrapped around himself and his face carefully blank. Then she saw Martin, his back to her sitting on the ground. He was fussing over something in front of him, and as Sasha made her way around the small couch, she finally saw the two, thin legs stretched out past Martin. Sasha felt the air leave her lungs as she collapsed onto the couch. Martin startled, whipping around, his grip tightening protectively around—around—

All the empty spaces in her head filled in all at once, the wallpaper the Not-Jon had put up was torn away when Sasha saw his face. He was too pale and thin. She remembered he was  _ always _ thin, and recalled the many times she forced him to go out to dinner with her to get him to eat more, but now he looked barely more than skin and bones. Like the life had been drained from him, which, she supposed, it had. His hair was streaked with more grey, and longer than it was the last time she had seen it. It was a tangled mess brushing past his shoulders, and she felt the urge to brush it out with her fingers. He hated his hair being unkempt. 

Martin was saying something, but she was too distracted by the realization that Jon wasn’t moving. He was dead weight in Martins arms, his head lolling as the hand holding it up shifted. Sasha’s ears were ringing.

“Is-” she started, swallowing when her voice came out raw and cracked. “Is he… Is he—”

“He’s alive, but he-he’s not doing well. Tim called an ambulance, should be here any minute. He’s  _ alive _ , Sasha. I, I remember him, everything!” Sasha let out a sob, not allowing her eyes to leave Jon’s weak form, watching the quiet, shallow breaths he took. She finally gave herself a minute to really  _ breathe. _ It fucking  _ worked. _ They saved Jon, and they remembered him. After a deep, tear-soaked inhale, she tore her eyes away from her lost friend, glancing between Martin and Tim, checking them over for any injuries.

“Oh  _ god _ , I thought—a-are you two okay? How did you—what happened?” Her voice was shaky and sounded water-logged and gross, and she wiped her face with her sleeve with a loud sniffle. 

“W-We’re okay, uh, we got back and were trying to find you and we saw—” Martin started, but Tim interrupted him.

“We saw the monster that made me think it was my fiancé and followed it into the tunnels. Got lost, then ran into that “Michael” thing. It said it had something for us, so we followed  _ another _ monster into some confusing hallways. Felt like we were in there for a day, at least, then we found… we found the _ real _ Jon. Then we found our way out.” His face didn’t change much, his voice was level, but there was something just underneath. Something  _ angry _ and pained that Sasha understood, but the way he was hiding it worried her. 

“Tim—” she didn’t get very far, as the sound of paramedics rushing through the Archives interrupted her. It was a bit of a blur, then, as they carefully extracted Jon from Martin’s arms, loading him onto a stretcher. She answered a few questions, but couldn’t remember what she was asked. They insisted she go with them, though, and she realized she probably looked like a mess. She leaned heavily against a paramedic as he led her out, Martin following closely behind. 

She watched Tim, as they left. He stayed where he was, talking to a paramedic with a clipboard. He didn’t look at Jon a single time.

  
  


⸻

  
  


It was a little over two days before Jon woke up. During that time, Sasha had returned to the Archives to retrieve Jon’s cane, while Tim and Martin found Jon’s flat, miraculously not emptied or rented out to someone else. Also, during that time, The body of Jurgen Leitner was found on the Institute steps, hacked to death with an axe. Of course, it was  _ her _ axe. According to Basira, who had called her personally about it, the thing was still embedded deep in his chest. 

She had been questioned, and she admitted it was her axe. She also admitted she had lost it. Considering the fact she had come in with her walker and a tougher back brace, they simply wanted to know where she had last seen it, and who she had seen near that area. Then they sent her on her way with a warning not to leave the country.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was still suspicious of her, though. The prickle of eyes on the back of her head as she made her way back to the hospital; and a similar, though much weaker, hanging dread she had felt as the Not-John hunted her down. She knew it was probably stupid to ignore it, but she had just gotten the call that Jon was awake. Tim and Martin were busy packing a few of Jon’s things to take to her own flat, and she wasn’t going to let him spend another second alone.

She rushed through as quickly as she could, and had nearly made it to Jon’s door when the doctor that had been treating him stopped her. The look on her face made her desperately want to burst into the room her friend was in, but she managed to hold still.

“What’s wrong?” She knew she sounded frantic, the question tumbling out of her mouth before the doctor could even open her own, but she gave her a reassuring smile nonetheless. 

“He’s stable and conscious, though he’s severely malnourished and he’ll need a lot of physical therapy for the muscle atrophy.” She knew that already. Why was she stopping her from seeing him?

“Can I see him?” The doctor hesitated, and Sasha pursed her lips. She really didn’t want to snap at her, as she had been very kind, but Sasha had been sleeping in a hospital chair for the past two days.

“Of course, it’s just… well, I want to order an MRI, but considering his current mental state, that may not be—”

“An MRI? Why? What happened?!” She knew her voice was raised, she knew she shouldn’t interrupt the professional trying to explain, trying to help. She just didn’t think she could handle much more of this. She just needed Jon to be  _ okay. _

“I’m not sure yet,” The doctor placed a gentle hand on Sasha’s shoulder, her voice was still as soft and patient as ever. “But since he’s woken up I’ve visited him about five times. He hasn’t recognized me once. He hasn’t recognized his nurse, either. He always panics when we ask him how he is. It may be some sort of short-term memory loss. We just can’t tell until we do more tests.” Sasha had to remind herself to breathe. That… that was usually temporary, right? She said short-term, so he remembered who he was. He has to remember her, and Martin, and Tim, right?

“I-I need to see him.” She barely heard the doctors polite ‘of course’ as she fumbled for the handle, pushing her way into the dark room. As the door closed behind her, she blinked a few times for her eyes to adjust. The window was open, but the poor weather didn’t allow for much light to shine through. She heard a breath hitch, and then she saw Jon.

He was staring at her, wide-eyed and visibly trembling. He was swallowed by the hospital bed, barely making a dent where he was pressing against the back of it.

“ _ Jon. _ ” She started toward him, but stopped when he curled in on himself further.

“S-Stop.” His voice was cracked and quiet from disuse, but Sasha understood him enough to go perfectly still.

“Jon, it’s okay, I—”

“I-I don’t  _ know you. _ ” he whispered, the terror clear on his face. Sasha felt her heart drop into her stomach. He… He didn’t know her?

“I’m—Jon, it’s  _ Sasha _ , you know me. Please, you know me.” She had to clear her throat to steady her voice. Jon’s face contorted, he looked  _ angry. _

“Don’t! Don’t do that! Y-You aren’t Sasha, you aren’t Sasha!” What? So he _did_ remember her? Jon muttered that same sentence a few times, while Sasha tried to think.

“What do you mean? I  _ am  _ Sasha.” She tentatively took another step, and Jon shook his head, pressing himself back further. She stopped.

“Y-You aren’t, you aren’t! Your face is  _ wrong. _ I don’t recognize your face! Stop using her voice!” He was beginning to panic. She wanted to rush forward and stop him from scratching his overgrown nails down his face, but she knew that would only make things worse.  _ Think, Sasha.  _ He knew who she was, but he didn’t recognize her face. 

“Jon, hey, I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?” Despite his fear of her, it seemed to work, just a little. It was still her voice calming him down, after all. “Okay, good. That’s good. Now I need you to think for me, okay? Can you tell me what your doctor looks like?” His eyes darted around the room, and she winced at the angry red welts running down him cheeks.

“I-It’s never the same doctor. I don’t-I don’t know their faces…” She knew only the one doctor had been seeing him. She could figure this out.

“Alright, can you describe the last doctor that came in? Can you describe her face, Jon?” She watched his eyes narrow in confusion and he stuttered over himself.

“H-Her face? I-I don’t—her face, I can’t—” Sasha made a small step forward. Jon didn’t react. She tried another.

“It’s okay, Jon. How about Martin? Can you describe Martin's face for me? Or Tim’s?” He was silent save for his shuddering breaths as the realization set in. She had managed to make it next to his bed, sitting gently so as not to disturb him.

“I d-don’t understand, I—w-why can’t I—I can’t remember their  _ faces. _ ” He studied her, growing more distressed as he did so. “I-I don’t know what you look like, I’m s-staring right at you and I c-I can’t figure out what you look like…” He reached his hands up towards his face, but Sasha grabbed them. He flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away.

“Look at my hair, okay? And my hands. Do you recognize those?” He stared down at her hands, and pulled one of his own away to bring it shakily to her purple curls. A loud, broken sob escaped his lips.

“ _ S-Sasha? _ ” She felt her own tears fall as she nodded, and Jon fell forward into her, too weak to hold herself up. “Is this a nightmare?” He asked against her chest, shaking more than Sasha thought possible.

“No, Jon. You’re awake. You’re safe, okay? I’ve got you.” He pulled away slightly, just enough to bring his trembling hands in front of his face.

“I-I have to make  _ sure. _ I need to-I need to count fingers, you always get the w-wrong number when you’re dreaming.” He started to count, then, under his breath. When he got to ten, he started over. He had to make sure. Sasha watched him, trying to comb his tangled hair with her fingers.

  
It was a trick of the dim light, her tired eyes making up shapes in the dark, but for a moment, for a  _ blink _ , Jon’s hair seemed to curl into perfect, never-ending spirals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand thats a wrap on part 2! I started writing in comic sans which, apparently helps writers so! perhaps expect more frequent chapters next part?  
> Comments are always appreciated and make my day!
> 
> Part 3 Will be titled "Touch-Tone Telephone"!

**Author's Note:**

> It's part 2! Sorry for the wait, had some wild shit going on. hopefully you will all forgive me, both for my absence and. well. you know.


End file.
